The Brooklyn Nine Nine characters, but as the Scooby Doo gang, solving mysteries and dodging ghosts and monsters.
Jake is Fred, the leader. When it’s time for the gang to split up and seach for clues, Rosa always pairs up with Gina, Terry always pairs off with Holt, and Charles, Amy, and Jake go as a group of three because he cannot take Charles’ begging to be Jake’s partner.
Gina is the red-haired beauty that is Daphne. Always has her mirror, hairbrush, and cell phone on her at all times. She often livestreams them solving the mystery on Instagram so her followers can solve the mystery along with them.
And yes, of course her followers ship the hell outta Peraltiago and Dianetti.
The Mystery van is Terry’s wife’s mini van that Cagney and Lacey painted pretty orange flowers over.
Charles makes “Scooby Snacks” AKA “Hitchcock And Scully Snacks” little treats that keep Hitchcock and Scully in line.
Amy is Velma, the brains of the operation. She always comes up with a complex master plan that can trap the monster.
Hitchcock and Scully always end up ruining the plan and getting caught in the trap themselves.
Cheddar is Scooby! He can talk!
It always works out in the end tho. They catch the monster, unmask them, and reveal their true identity.
And they would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those rotten detectives!
For the prompt: “As the wise Scooby Doo said; “Ruh Roh”.” And one of your fave pairings bc I can't think of one
“As the wise Scooby Doo said; “Ruh Roh”.”
This, of all things, made Voldemort pause. Next to Harry, Dumbledore frowned, braced for an attack and confused as to why Voldemort had hesitated.
Harry just flushed red. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten Voldemort could read his mind- they’d had full on conversations using their mental connection before, so it wasn’t exactly unusual- but Voldemort tended to block out Harry when they were in the company of anyone else. With Dumbledore by his side, Harry thought his less sophisticated thoughts would fly under the radar, but apparently he was wrong.
“Sometimes, Harry, I question your sanity.” Rolling his eyes, Voldemort sent a lazy curse towards Dumbledore which was only remarkable in that it was the least flashy spell Harry had ever seen Voldemort cast.
“You’re not really one to talk,” Harry pointed out as Dumbledore retaliated with a blizzard of fire that Voldemort managed to remain untouched by. “Torture, cults, and terrorism aren’t usually hallmarks of sane people.”
“Oh, don’t be simple, Harry. If you think that’s all I stand for you’re not paying attention.”
Harry was about to retort, rehashing an argument they’d been having for around a year, when Dumbledore grasped his shoulder and pulled him backwards, away from Voldemort, and towards the edge of the anti-apparition wards Voldemort had activated moments before.
Harry felt Voldemort’s rage before he saw the narrowing of his eyes, the clench and twist of his hands. Birds, vicious silver crows, burst from Voldemort’s palms and threw themselves at Dumbledore, pecking and dodging the defensive shields Dumbledore conjured. None of the birds so much as glanced at Harry.
Something about the way Voldemort stared combined with the birds reminded Harry of Hermione’s own wrath, and Harry only barely resisted the urge to pull up the zipper of his hoodie to fight the sudden chill in the air.
Their eyes met across the dark hall. The last time they had seen each other like this in person had been when Sirius… but it was different now. The space between them was saturated by a desire to understand, or maybe just a desire. Dumbledore was destroying the birds one by one. If there was to be a change, it had to be now.
“I want to pay attention. I want to understand… er… I’d like to unmask the monster,” Harry thought, suppressing a grin.
Voldemort tilted his head. “I’ll take you with me and no harm will come to you on one condition.”
“You’re not allowed to make a single reference to ‘Scooby Doo’ for the next twenty-four hours.”
Harry pretended to consider this as Voldemort glided towards him. The last bird was destroyed. Dumbledore and Voldemort reached for him, but Harry only reached for Voldemort.
Twenty-four hours later, Harry would say “Jinkies!” and Voldemort would promptly push him off of the bed.
I was part of a Scooby Doo type gang and we were investigating a mystery, along with the Adult Movie Star Bailey Jay who was also a part of it. She got naked at one point, but when I turned a corner, she was dressed again and the rest of the gang had caught the monster and unmasked him.
If you like the Scooby-Doo-type story of four kids and a dog solving spooky mysteries involving monsters and ghosts, perhaps you’ll get a kick out of “Meddling Kids”, the new upcoming novel by Edgar Cantero!
It was all over the papers. “Teenage Sleuths Unmask Sleepy Lake Monster.” In the picture the gang (two boys, two girls, and their loveable weimaraner) pose before the old Deboen Mansion on Sleepy Lake in Blyton Hills, OR. All smiles, freckles, and bell-bottoms, they surround a hogtied Mr. Wickley in his salamander costume, his far-fetched criminal scheme foiled. “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”
Flash forward. That glorious summer is long gone. And thirteen years of winter have followed. The gang’s grown apart. Adult life hasn’t been kind. One of the boys was institutionalized. The other killed himself. And Andy, their intrepid leader, is growing tired of not facing her demons. Too many things were left unspoken that summer. Not only her feelings for Kerri, the brains of the operation — there are also the relentless nightmares, drawing her back to that notorious night at the mansion.
In MEDDLING KIDS, it’s time to reopen the case, reunite what’s left of the gang, and return to Sleepy Lake. And this time, whether it’s petty villainy or an aeons-old primordial evil, the Blyton Hills Summer Detective Club will once and for all confront their fears face to face.
The teen detectives once known as the Blyton Summer Detective Club (of Blyton Hills, a small mining town in the Zoinx River Valley in Oregon) are all grown up and haven’t seen each other since their fateful, final case in 1977. Andy, the tomboy, is twenty-five and on the run, wanted in at least two states. Kerri, one-time kid genius and budding biologist, is bartending in New York, working on a serious drinking problem. At least she’s got Tim, an excitable Weimaraner descended from the original canine member of the team. Nate, the horror nerd, has spent the last thirteen years in and out of mental health institutions, and currently resides in an asylum in Arhkam, Massachusetts. The only friend he still sees is Peter, the handsome jock turned movie star. The problem is, Peter’s been dead for years.
The time has come to uncover the source of their nightmares and return to where it all began in 1977. This time, it better not be a man in a mask. The real monsters are waiting.
With raucous humor and brilliantly orchestrated mayhem, Edgar Cantero’s Meddling Kids taps into our shared nostalgia for the books and cartoons we grew up with, and delivers an exuberant, eclectic, and highly entertaining celebration of horror, life, friendship, and many-tentacled, interdimensional demon spawn.
I’m personally very excited to see what kind of commentary this book has to offer! I will definitely be getting a copy for myself!
>> You’re ever so excited to be in these woods, your camera armed and ready. After spending hours online, and hunting through threads and online skeptics, you’ve found another myth. It was hard because not many trolls had seen this cryptid before, but you found enough stories and legends to check it out. Of course you knew it was probably fake, as are most of your trips out to explore the unknown. It’s like an episode of Scooby Doo, where you unmask the ‘monster’ as a feral dog, or a troll living in a cabin, just trying to keep other trolls out of his territory by frightening them.
>> You are, however, very giddy to be out here. You’ve updated your blog saying that you’d go live every day for a couple hours while you searched, and the rest of the time you’d take short clips and pictures. You had a go-pro camera you bought recently, and that’s what you’d use when you went live. For everything else, you had your trusty old camera. You got a lot of responses, trolls urging you to check it out. Most of them wanted to know more about the specific cryptid, and you gave them links. It was nice to spread word about this, you thought. What’s a cryptid without trolls that believe in it? Not much, you think. You hoped that you could gain a larger following by the time the trip was over.
>> Your backpack makes a little noise as you rush along. Holding your camera in both hands, you trudge through the forest, walking too fast. You can’t help it, you just want to set up and put your stuff down so you can get started. Part of you hopes this cryptid is the one you find, but the majority of you knows it won’t be. Whatever, it’ll be fun. Maybe if you weren’t so excited, you would’ve remembered to tie your shoes.
I may make a second part to this imagine if it receives a lot of notes ✌️
’@Y/N: I don’t have any feelings for Calum anymore, he is just my friend and has been for the last six months’, you tweet, lying constantly throughout. Yes, you still loved Calum, but you couldn’t do anything about it. He broke up with you six months ago, and since then you have just remained friends, just friends.
The break up was good (as far as break ups go) as you didn’t argue, it was more of a tearful conversation. You had both agreed that the long distance relationship wasn’t working, and was causing more aggravation than needed. So you ended the best relationship you had ever been in. You cried yourself to sleep for most nights after your break up because you missed him so much and your heart felt as though it had been torn in two.
And unfortunately, six months later, you still weren’t over him. But you and Cal were best friends now, and you couldn’t let your feelings get in the way. It was better to keep in contact with him and be able to cheer him up than never speak to him again, even though the conversations both broke and mended your heart simultaneously.
Although, on many occasions you felt the need to kiss him, to hold him, to call him yours, you couldn’t. There was always that small glimmer of hope that stayed inside of your heart. You thought that one day, you would be together once more. But after it was announced that he had a new girlfriend, your glimmer of hope grew darker.
Cal had texted you two days ago, telling you that he was in London and wanted meet up. You happily obliged, even though he was bringing his girlfriend.
It was strange that ever since Cal broken up with you, the fandom was being really nice to you. In reply to your tweet, so many more fans said how he was better with you, and happier with you which made you feel better. People were tweeting that he still loves you, which re-lit that glimmer of hope. But, he had a new girlfriend now. You were so confused about your feelings, and probably needed a break from Cal. No texting, no calling, but you couldn’t. You understood why his girlfriend would mind your constant messages, but you’re just friends now, right?
You had just arrived at the quiet corner shop where you planned to meet Calum. You were wearing a jumper, jeans, vans and a beanie - and was very proud of your fashion decisions on that day. It was November, so you had to wear many layers otherwise you would catch pneumonia. Your nerves were hurting you, but it was worth it. You would go through any pain if it meant you could see Calum.
Suddenly, Calum walked around the corner. You immediately felt better, your nerves had gone and that glimmer of hope burned brighter than ever before. Your eyes traced his appearance, he wore a coat, beanie, black jeans and boots. A small tuff of his tousled hair poked out of his beanie. Wow, he looked amazing. You were tempted to run to him and hug him so tightly, but you weren’t together anymore. The small reminder upset you, but you knew that you would save your tears for your pillow. The fact that he was interlocking hands with Belle, his girlfriend also prevented you from doing so.
She wore a crop top, vey skinny jeans and heels. How was she not cold?! Her hair looked like candy floss, it was knotted and burnt from the excessive use of straighteners. She looked vile, and her personalised matched too.
“Hi”, you smiled at Calum and Belle.
“Hi”, he stared, looking a little taken aback by your appearance. You blushes under his flirty glare. “This is… Belle”, he added, squeezing her hand. Did he just forget her name? You have to stifle a laugh.
“Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you”, you lie. It was never nice to meet your ex-boyfriends new girl, whether you still loved him or not.
“It great to meet you”, she smiles. You silently growl, why does she have to be nice?
“I’m just going to the toilets”, Cal says, pointing at the public toilets over there.
“Babe, they’re disgusting”, Belle whines. Is it possible for such a horrible, high-pitched voice to exit a girl? Obviously.
“I’m desperate”, he smiles at you. He pulls you into a warm hug, and you fell in love with him even more - if that were possible.
“It’s great to see you Y/N”, he grins down at you. You just wanted to touch that beautiful face of his, and honestly, squish it up. Playing with his face always entertained you.
“You too Cal”, you smile. He stares at your lips, and then back at you eyes before pulling away. Suddenly, Belle takes his arm and plants a big, sloppy kiss on his lips. You body repulses in reaction to that disgusting sight. You remind yourself to save the tears for your pillow.
Calum pulls back awkwardly after several seconds and looks back at you. He frowns and walks to the toilets. At this point, you knew that Belle was a bitch.
“So, are you going to the gig toni-” you begin, before being so rudely interrupted.
“Shut the fuck up slut”, Belle groans. You stop, and raise your eyebrows whilst taking a step back.
“I’m sorry what?” You asks.
“Keep away from Calum, no texting, no calling, no nothing”, she whispers.
“That last bit didn’t make sense”, you admit.
“If you dare talk to my man, I will slap the living daylights out of your disgusting face”, she threats.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do”, you challenge, refraining from sweating at him.
“Shut up. I can’t deal with your presence you utter scumbag”, she retorts. “If you don’t go, I’ll tell Calum you still love him”, she begins.
“But I don’t”.
“You do. And you know hat he won’t talk to you”, she adds spitefully.
“You don’t know him! He will!” You say.
“Fine. If that’s not enough, I’ll release nudes of him”, she says.
“You don’t have any bitch”. She gets her phone out before scrolling through pictures and tapping on the screen. It genuinely was a picture of Calum naked. The thought of his sending her that made you sick, but you blocked it out for a while.
“Yes. He sent me that. He never sent you one in the year that you were going out did he? No. Because you’re a frigid whore”, she says.
“Frigid whore doesn’t make sense”, you correct.
“Do you want these to get on the Internet and ruin Calum’s career?” She asks.
“Of course not!” You answer.
“Then don’t talk to him again”, she says, before lying down on the floor in an awkward position.
“What are you doing?” You question, stepping back once again in fear that she may lash out at you. She begins to emit a sound reaching new decibels, it sounds like a cat being drowned in acid.
Calum suddenly runs out of the toilets. He looks at you and then back at Belle. “What happened?” He asks Belle, taking her arm and pulling her up.
“One of her heels probably broke”, you whisper under your breath a little too loudly. Calum stares at you in disbelief and you shrug.
“She pushed me down”, Belle moans. You watch as she forces tears to fall out of her eyes.
“I did not!” You yell at her. “She was threatening me!”
“Oh really? And what did she say?” Calum asks, anger rising through him.
You begin to speak, knowing that you can pass the blame onto her and unmask her for the monster that she really is. But you look over at Belle, who is waving the pictures at you. Immediately, you give up because you know that she would leak them.
“Nothing”, you whisper.
“Can we just go? I need ice”, she cries. Calum takes her arm and helps her along the pavement. He looks back and you, and shakes his head before disappearing around the corner.
Did you hear that loud crack? Yes, that was the sound of your heart breaking.
Tears are now flowing down your face uncontrollably. You slowly begin to walk away, not noticing the photographers and cameramen capturing footage of your heated argument. Until the story reaches the headlines of newspapers.
Tropes: Unmasking the Monster & the Monster in Love
Showing his face and real voice had the opposite effect of removing his badassery. What it did was to make him three-dimensional instead of a cartoon character like Vader was in the first film. I like his face and real voice much more than the mask version. Seeing as he loses the mask on the collapsing planet, I would prefer if he was a villain (or possibly as a tragic love interest where Rey’s mission might become trying to redeem him) with a face for the continuing films.
What that interrogation scene did to Rey was make it harder for her to hate the faceless monster. Instead, it was a boyish young man. Adam Driver’s voice is a beautiful baritone. What threw off the fanboys who just wanted a cool-looking badass with no character (see Boba Fett syndrome) is that he ended up a twisted sort of gentleman towards Rey. It’s reminiscent of the trope of the monster who wants to be loved.
Humanizing him that way brought forth a difference from Darth Vader continuing the false image of himself as a robotic, faceless monster that unravels much later in the story.
Ben Solo/Kylo Ren became the Phantom Erik being unmasked by Christine Daaé after he has abducted her, physically deformed Quasimodo and psychologically deformed Claude Frollo both lusting for Esmeralda while she is after Phoebus, Frankenstein’s monster wanting a Bride who could love him back but only gets her shrieking at him, etc…
You might have picked up on the fact that Kylo seems obsessive and lustful towards Rey. In his twisted mind, he becomes a gentleman during the interrogation. He wanted her to see him as a young man. He’s the monster carrying off someone he seems intensely intrigued by bridal-style to his lair (lusting for her raw power is part of it), leaning in close to her face and staring into her eyes with a strong invasion of personal space when he talks to her or fights her, etc… The monster in love trope might be what we’re getting here.
There’s a case to be made that the name “Solo” might not be used as a mere family name for him; that because of his choices, he’s now alone and there is a lack of anyone he considers worthy of himself because he is one of those rare beings who has the Force. “It’s only us now.” He seems to equate Force sensitivity with worth and Rey has the mother lode. There’s also a hint of this in the fact that most of his animosity is reserved for his “disappointing” father, who is the Forceless Muggle of the original trio (and formerly the cynic who didn’t believe in the Force). Perhaps he feels diluted by him, blaming him that he might not reach the powers of Anakin Skywalker.
When she fights him, he seems in awe of her for her power, rather than actually wanting to defeat her. He was more interested in turning her to the Dark Side and making her see things his way than he ever was in fighting her to the death. He was toying with her. This is a guy who is easily angered and lashes out furiously throughout the film, yet he is remarkably not lashing out at Rey during the fight even when she slashes his face. That’s why he humanized the faceless monster in that scene. He also made it harder for her to hate him because she had to look into his eyes.
And yet, this is still a person who just killed his father, likewise unmasked. He killed his father wearing the face of that man’s son, not as a faceless monster. Another reason it was important to have him as a figure who is unmasked during both of these actions.
The actual reason that Angelus was put into bumpy game face when he snapped Jenny Calendar’s neck on Buffy the Vampire Slayer was because they wanted it so that people wouldn’t be disturbed by Buffy kissing Angel (with his soul returned) once again. There was discussion on whether they should do it more daringly with the human face of Angel. The prosthetics acted as something of a mask separating the murderous monster from the good guy character.
By taking off the mask when he killed Han, it was Ben Solo doing the action, not Kylo Ren. Pretty daring stuff considering there’s probably a redemption story or an attempt by other characters to save him.
Hey! It’s Char! And as you know (or I’m sure you do) I’m one of the writers at “Unmasking Monsters.” (unmasking-monsters.tumblr.com)
And I’d like to tackle some questions out of character, because I think I need to clear some things up, or at least would like to.
So, first off. What is “Unmasking Monsters?”
The blog essentially details the lives of four fuckups (all aged about 20 or so) who are all stuck in their glory years, living in a flat together. However, they have a chance to get back to those glory days when a supposed supernatural being starts following then and messing around with their lives. However, this monster, who they believe is the notorious Slenderman, is quite a bit more than they bargained for.
Who are these characters? Oh. You know them. They’ve been around since 1969 and basically do this for a living. However, Mystery Inc are in the slumps of their lives, as stated in the aforementioned paragraph. Velma is a college dropout, Fred and Daphne are teen parents, and Shaggy is even more of a burnout (though he’s the most together of all of them). OH and the dogs old. Really old.
So long story short, the Scooby gang has to unmask the most infamous monster to terrorize the internet (next to Cthulhu).
How does the blog work?
Different writers tackle different characters and take turns posting. There has been a total of 5 active members, one of whom makes cameos as Marcy Fleach from the 2010 reboot of the series.
I, personally, tackle a character and a half. I’m a full-time Fred blogger, and a part time Velma blogger.
It’s also an interactive blog. The staff actually loves answering your questions and encourages you, the follower, to participate in the story. They take advice, questions, and sometimes if you have a mystery for them to solve as a distraction, they’ll do it.
there is a rotation between plot-based posts and side-tracked posts dedicated to character development and inner conflict.
First off, let me apologize for the huge delay in getting you an update.
Well, we found our monster.
Right in the knick of time, actually (MJ was grateful we didn’t get kicked out of the park).
Lady D had gone through three costume changes in a two week’s time span. Ariel. Belle. Sleeping Beauty.
Considering her, I figured she would have been happy as a clam to be engrossed in such endeavors.
Then, two more people died.
Cinderella and Tinker Bell.
We found the former floating in the river where the Mark Twain ferryboat is stationed. Blonde wig removed and a head of auburn, bobbed hair billowing in its place.
The latter was entwined in Tarzan’s Treehouse.
The park wasn’t closed off, because, I mean, why close the Happiest Place on Earth in the face of death, destruction, and chaos?
We spoke to a Daisy Duck about what was going on, but she was completely oblivious.
The case was a lost cause.
And then, last Tuesday at about 10 at night, the park was pretty desolate and Daphne was going on break for the night from her princess gig (she had just taken up the mantle of Cinderella) and almost out of nowhere came a gun shot. Instinctually, Jones knocked D to the ground and the bullet hit the wide trunked tree.
Then, a series of gun shots.
Then she emerged. The girl who was Daisy.
“Give. Me. My. Part.” This was really more of a screech.
We were trap-less and plan-less, and our little psycho was getting closer.
She falls to the floor
From behind her, another figure walks up, into the dim lighting of the street lamp.
There should Marcy, clutching a baseball bat tightly in her hands, which she promptly dropped.
“Jinkies..What..happened?” NSR emerged from his watch-tower location (which was really just some distance in front of us) at the sound of my voice.
“Well Daphne almost got shot.” Marcy nudged the unconscious girl, still holding the gun, with her foot.
“Clearly. But how did you know?”
“I put the pieces together. This girl was manic about not getting the recently opened parts. Every time one was taken, she settled for the next part.”
Mr. Jones called Park Security and waited for the girl to regain consciousness, and the truth spilled forth.
She wanted a good gig. More than anything.
The first girl? Rochelle? Slit her own throat.
That wasn’t a murder at all.
This girl, the one who was Daisy, actually named Yvonne, thought she could snag that part.
No such luck. Someone else took up that role. A girl, who was just the right kind of ditz to play Tinker Bell perfectly. Yvonne kills her next, hopeful she could get cast as Tinker Bell. No such luck. The new girl doubles a role as Cinderella. Well, clearly we know what happened to her. She dies, too.
All Yvonne had to do was kill the latest Cinderella, and she’d surely get the part.
Well, first of all, no one gets away with murder that easily, and second of all, so-called-Cinderella was our lovely Lady D.
Long story short, Marcy got fired for meddling with park equipment after hours, Yvonne was arrested and has an upcoming court case, and we earned free access to the park.
It was a hectic case, but we solved it.
But then everything changed.
The instant we drove up to the flat complex, all very exhausted from hours of driving, something was wrong. Very wrong.
There were myriad firetrucks and people, lining up to the back flat.
Lady D screamed. Loudly.
NSR and I were speechless, shell-shocked.
That was our home. And it was engulfed in flames.
Mr. Jones, instinctually, bolted out of the van, ignoring his fiancee, friends’, and daughter’s yells at him not to, shoving firemen aside, into the flat.
I could hear the wood cracking, breaking.
Lady D tried to run after him, but firemen were restraining her.
He was gone. We all thought it.
NSR gripped my hand tightly and we both stared at the flaming horror that we had made our home.
Lady D was in hysterics, screaming, frantic.
Two firemen went in.
They emerged with a screaming man, putting out a fire on the lower left side of his face.
He was screaming.
But he was alive.
And in his hands, he was clutching a framed photograph.
It was of us. Taken in high school. The photo that we kept on a shelf.
Lady D screamed. Half in agony. Half in relief that Mr. Jones was alive, just semi-conscious.
He went to the emergency room. Promptly. The burns were minor, surprising considering the circumstances, but his left eye suffered further damage.
A prosthetic was ordered (Had I not just seen my house burn down following the case from hell, I would’ve made Mad Eye Moody jokes) though he’ll be in the hospital for about a week.
We spent that first night in the van, in a local park’s parking lot.
None of us cried or wept. We didn’t know what to do.
We were numb. Shell-shocked. It was surreal. All of it.
Lady D lay across the front bench seats, clutching a whimpering MJ to her.
NSR and I remained awake in the back.
Was it normal to be so tuned out? To not react with fears of tears. Just disbelief?
I noticed he was paler though, not just in the “holy shit I’m homeless and have no more possessions” sort of way.
He took something out of his backpack.
The letter his secret admirer sent.
The one that played Ring of Fire.
It’s still so..unrealistic. I haven’t yet put the pieces together.
We were in the van for a few days, before getting a call from Marcy.
She’s letting us stay at her place. She figured she owed us that much.
By that point, we were all distraught. But we each took turns agonizing.
Mr. Jones came back. There is nothing more frightening than seeing the golden boy you always admired, a strong, brave man, crumpled and timid, lost in himself.
We had to get up quickly though, before things continued to escalate.
We can’t do anything else.
This secret admirer, she’s behind it. I’m almost sure of it.
And I hate to admit to it, but we were lucky enough that the Blakes and Jones have some financial security.
Mayor Jones is begrudgingly helping us get a place.
It’s not a matter of finding a house.
It’s a matter of rebuilding a home.
But I’m grateful that the four of us are together.
Maybe that’s why I’m not entirely remorseful.
As long as the gang bands together, there’s nothing we can’t figure out.
(The original idea. The drabbles following, in order: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7.1, 8.This is a direct follow up to part 7, and may be directly continued further.)
“Hey,” Tommy greeted awkwardly as he swung the front door open. “You totally didn’t have to come do this tonight, it could have waited.”
Felicity, standing before him in flats, skinny jeans, a tanktop and a light jacket with her laptop bag slung across her chest, shrugged and made a face. “Please, I was so bored I was starting to climb the walls. Semi-literally, because I’d resorted to yoga and was trying out some poses that basically dare gravity to end me and involve various vertical surfaces, and how sad is it that my Friday nights have resorted to trying out yoga poses that sound like they were lifted from the Kama Sutra and divorced from all the fun stuff?”
Tommy blinked at her, eyebrows rising, and licked his lips, carefully stifling a grin. “Uh. I don’t know how to answer that, so how about you just come in?”
Felicity grinned at him and did a little hop that sent her ponytail bouncing as she scooted around him and into the apartment.
“So. Yoga poses from the Kama Sutra, huh?” Oliver grinned lasciviously from his sprawl on the couch, eyebrows waggling, stopping Felicity in her tracks.
Sighing and rolling his eyes heavenward, Tommy shut the door and turned to find Felicity glaring up at him from inches away.
“You didn’t tell me you had company.” Tommy tucked his chin and raised a reproachful brow, and Felicity frowned sourly, eyes cutting away. “…and okay, maybe I didn’t give you the chance.”
“Oh, come on, Felicity, it won’t be that bad,” Oliver cajoled brassily, tossing his head and smile dripping charm. “I don’t bite.” He clicked his teeth together sharply. “Except when asked.”
Felicity stared at him deadpan and wrinkled her nose, fingers clutching tight to the strap across her front. “Down, boy.”
Tommy huffed a strained laugh, rubbing at the corner of his eyebrow. “Great talk, guys, this is–this is fun. Or hell. One of those.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and cut a hard glance between his two friends. “Play nice. Think we can manage that?”
Oliver’s eyes hooded as Felicity jutted her chin out in challenge, tiny shoulders practically bristling. Ollie looked away first, meeting Tommy’s eyes and sighing from his nose as he leaned forward, rising from the couch with a lazy, deliberate grace Tommy hadn’t seen him use in years.
“Sure,” Oliver said, deliberately mild. “Think I’ll go get another beer.” His eyes flicked to Felicity, cool and guarded. “You want one?”
Felicity blinked at him, surprised and wary. “Yeah. Okay. I mean, sure.”
Oliver nodded sharply and, without further ado, rounded the couch and head and vanished into the kitchen.
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Felicity turned to Tommy and slowly raised a brow.
Tommy sighed again. “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s–It’s Ollie. But it was his idea that I call you.”
Felicity’s lips pressed together, voice low. “That is not particularly reassuring. I feel like the dork girl about to get cruelly pranked by the popular frat guys.”
Tommy’s chin lowered, brow lifting and a smirk settling on his lips. “Right, because that’s so you, Ms. Anyone-with-boobs-can-make-a-frat-boy-do-anything.”
Felicity lifted her chin. “I know that, but he doesn’t. And former frat boy or not, I am not using my boobs to make Oliver do anything. That’s asking for grief I could do without.”
Tommy just laughed softly, stepping closer and cupping her shoulder in his hand. “Don’t worry, they can stay safely under wraps.” He grinned at her wickedly as he guided her towards the now vacant couch. “I mean, unless you want to unleash them, far be it from me to stand in the way of–”
She cut him off with a sharp smack to the gut. “You. Shut up. My boobs are staying exactly where they are, thank you, under my shirt.”
Oliver strolled back into the living room at that precise moment, three perspiring beers dangling between his fingers, and one peaked eyebrow arched high. “Wow, the conversation got interesting while I was away. What about your boobs, Felicity?”
Felicity heaved a scoff of frustration, eyes rolling as she dropped onto the couch cushions, pulling her bag over her head and settling it by her feet. “Nothing. Nothing about my boobs. All conversation on the topic of my breasts will cease immediately.” She glared up at Tommy as she leaned over to unzip her laptop free. “Got it?”
He laughed, but held his hands up, fingers spread in surrender. “For fear you will leave and strand me in this financial SNAFU nightmare, your word is my command.”
Felicity’s eyes narrowed and she turned her attention to her laptop, opening it and booting it up as Tommy sat next to her and Oliver took the nearby armchair. “I wouldn’t. This is your charity, but the idea that someone is stealing thousands of dollars meant to go to rebuilding the Glades? That’s not okay with me.” She smiled, a cool, smug, slightly frightening smirk as she pulled up a new program with a few keystrokes. “I’m gonna find this guy–because embezzlers always seem to be guys, have you noticed that?–and I’m going to make him cry.”
Tommy chuckled and shook his head in amazement, leaning back into the couch cushions to watch Felicity work.
He glanced over at Oliver, who was staring with wide, fixed-eyes and an incredulously arched brow at Felicity. Feeling Tommy’s gaze on him, he blinked at his friend and mouthed, “She’s terrifying.”
“Yes,” Felicity answered pleasantly, having seen him out of the corner of her eye. “I am.”
Tommy bit his lip to swallow a cackle. He’d always been weirdly proud of how much a quiet badass Felicity was–and honestly, Oliver had been, too–and it was an odd thrill seeing Ollie learn all over again that Felicity Smoak was not to be fucked around with.
“Thanks again, Felicity,” Tommy said, his hand falling from the back of the couch to rest between Felicity’s shoulder blades as she curled towards her laptop.“I have put… a lot of work into this charity, and it means–it means a lot to me. And the idea of some other disgusting, greedy parasite using what I’ve built to help people to make themselves fat and rich at the expense of people who have already been ground down and abused…”
The hand on Felicity’s back curled, fingernails biting into his palm. Tommy’s eyes dropped to his lap, then lifted to find Oliver observing him seriously. he held his friend’s sober gaze steadily. “We are not our parents. We don’t hurt people just because they haven’t had our advantages, we sure as hell don’t turn a blind eye and let other people do it.”
Oliver stayed silent, but his chin dipped in the slightest of nods.
Ollie may not remember coming into that sense of responsibility, of the horror and betrayal of their parents being unmasked as predatory monsters–among so many other things.
But, if Oliver had been many less than upstanding things, he had never been callous or deliberately cruel; careless, yes, insulated by the ignorance afforded him by his privilege, certainly. But even at his shittiest and most selfish, Ollie wouldn’t have been able to learn what their families had wrought, and why, and not care.
Felicity shifted under Tommy’s hand, turning towards him with a soft, sad, understanding smile, taking his wrist and drawing his fist between her hands. Pressed between her palms, Tommy’s fingers smoothed into her grip, and when she squeezed, he squeezed back, smiling at her gratefully. “I’ll find him. We’ll stop him. We always–” she sucked in a breath, dropped her eyes, and Tommy stiffened slightly, deliberately not looking at Oliver.
We always do, she had been about to say.
Felicity shook her head, closed her eyes and swallowed, then lifted her chin with a strong, cheerful smile. “Honestly, this won’t even be hard! Mostly it’ll just be sitting back and letting the program sift through your records and tracing back through the maze of the money trail.” She smiled brightly and released Tommy’s hand onto the cushions between them. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll know who’s fleecing your charity.”
Over in his chair, Oliver was watching them with not a little disquiet–a growingly familiar feeling of late. Shifting his weight, he sifted rapidly through the reactions he could give, the questions he could ask, the deflections he might make or distractions he could offer, Who did he need to be? What did he want to turn this situation into?
It was a cycle familiar to Oliver as breathing, one he’d learned as a child, watching his parents don and discard smiles like masks for every occasion.
He’d never had to perform in front of Tommy before.
Lately he was performing every waking moment. It was exhausting, and he was beginning to resent it.
Putting on a grin, Oliver caught Felicity’s eye and waggled his eyebrows. “Is that strictly legal?”
Felicity blinked, then afforded him a long, measured stare; it seemed to cut straight through him, watchful and observant. She chose to give him a small smile. “Mostly. It’s always nice to have actual permission for once.”
Oliver smirked and shook his head. “Felicity Smoak, I didn’t know you were such a bad girl.”
She put her head to one side, giving him a droll look softened by a curled mouth. “These days, Oliver, you don’t know anything about me at all.”
Oliver nodded in concession and put his beer to his lips for a sip. “I’m learning.”
Tommy, glancing thoughtfully back and forth between them, slapped his knees and stood. “You know what? I’m hungry. Since this program’s gonna run for a while, how about I order some pizza?” He moved towards the kitchen, eyebrows raised enticingly. “Felicity, sausage and mushrooms?”
She nodded, and Oliver made a derisive face. “Supreme for me, Tommy.”
Tommy rolled his eyes as he walked away. “Yeah, buddy, I remember. I’m not the one with amnesia.”